


The Usual Suspects

by inkandstars



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Attempts at humour, Cracky, Gen, In which coffee is the catalyst, Pranking, The Coffee is forever out of reach, especially Dishonorable Discharge, inspired by the incredible works of icynovas, poor Veld, t for language
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-27
Updated: 2016-12-26
Packaged: 2018-07-18 13:49:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7317730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkandstars/pseuds/inkandstars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This happened because I saw the line ‘the usual suspects’, and wanted to write something, so…here goes!</p><p>Shinra has recently fallen victim to an unparalleled series of pranks, from the cataclysmic, to the chaotic, to the cheesy. What’s a poor Director of Turk to do? Why, round up the usual suspects, of course.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Life-Giving Liquid

**Author's Note:**

> Veld can't just enjoy a nice cup of joe, can he? Poor man.

Veld stared soulfully into the bottom of his coffee cup. It had been a good coffee, he mused silently. He had tasted a hint of smooth, delicious bitterness before the motor-oil qualities that were endemic to the coffee produced in Shinra’s office machines had drowned out the fleeting sensation. He sighed, and set down the empty cup, replacing it with an unidentified file from the stack of unresolved problems to his left.

Had he not just consumed the sumptuous beverage that some poor soul had managed to concoct he would have had a minor psychotic break. Instead he picked up his PHS, directing a beautifully worded message to Lazard. It politely requested that Lazard stop sending his paperwork regarding broken VR rooms to the Turks and reminded him that the Department of Administrative Research did not handle matters of maintenance… _or fund them._

Several hours later, he called for a new cup of coffee, hoping against hope that the same hint of flavour would be present in the drink. He patiently waited for his secretary to leave after delivering it before picking it up and slowly, hesitantly, taking a sip. Of course, he cursed dully in his head, as he took the drink away from his mouth. It wasn’t that the drink was any worse than what he usually consumed, it was simply that the anticipation built from earlier had made him…eager. He shook himself. He wasn’t going to go to any measures to regain the unique taste. He had more important things to do.

Several days later, the Turks still hadn’t been able to discover who it was that had made The Coffee. Veld took it manfully, in his stride. These things happened sometimes (especially as a Shinra employee) and sometimes all a person could do was accept them.

He was over it. He truly was. Then came the note.

_**Please enjoy your coffee.** _

Motherfucker.


	2. Tailored to Fit

Rufus had been minding his own business. Literally. He had been getting his paperwork out of the way, staving off boredom with the thought of his approaching meeting with his tailor. Wutaian silk. Northern furs. Cosmo Canyon cotton. Junon linen. Just a little while longer.

He heard a knock and looked up. Sephiroth stood in the doorway, expression blankly serious…and with a hand gloved in crimson.

“Rufus. A man was apprehended attempting to approach this level. For various reasons, Lazard informed me that he was not to be let through to your office, so he has been disposed of.”

Rufus was, for want of better words, stunned. He’d been working for about five hours straight, subsisting on lukewarm coffee and hope. (The coffee had been absolutely foul. He’d heard that once, about two months ago, Veld had drunk a decent Shinra coffee, infamously known as The Coffee, and had consequently mobilised the Turks attempting to find a way to access more of the life-giving liquid, to no effective end.) That tailor had carried all of his wishes and dreams for a better tomorrow.

He sank into his chair, numbly staring at the table. He heard the door close, and Sephiroth’s tapping feet disappear back to whatever hell the tailor-slaying monstrosity had crawled out of.

Rufus sat there for a long time, periodically changing the direction of his gaze to focus on something that he hadn’t stared at before. He’d known, objectively, that having his tailor come to him in Shinra Tower was a slight breach of company protocol. The only civilians supposed to access this level was him, his father and their secretaries. His eyes narrowed, the blankness clearing away. _Lazard_.

How on Gaia did that bastard make a mistake like ordering for his tailor to be killed? _Just you wait, Lazard,_ he promised mentally. _I’ll have my answers. And my revenge_.

Another knock disturbed him. He acknowledged it, and told the person outside to enter. Nothing gained by being rude.

In bounced Reno, red hair flopping into his eyes, and being brushed aside impatiently.

“What is it, Reno?”

“Yo, boss. I saw Sephiroth leaving this floor with blood dripping from his fingers, so I came to check you were still alive.”

Rufus frowned. “Why would you think me dead?”

Reno widened his eyes, making his icy blues look incongruously innocent again his foxy face. “Boss, weird stuff’s been happening. Veld figured out that The Coffee was part of a plan to ruin his taste for everything else.”

Rufus tilted his head curiously. “How did he figure that out?”

A dead silence dropped into the snowy carpet that covered the floor of his comfortable office. “…The perp sent him a note.”

Rufus paused. Did that mean…?

Yet another knock sounded on the door. He called out “Who is it?” rather distractedly as he stared Reno down.

His secretary entered, bowing slightly as she handed him a cream coloured square card.

**_Remember: dress to impress._ **

That tailor had been the best in Midgar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kinda lame, but I really couldn't think of anything better.
> 
> What happened to the tailor? Is Lazard the prankster? Does Sephiroth actually handle the security for Rufus' administrative floor? 
> 
> Hang in there to find out (along with me, I have no idea where this is going, but stay tuned for this ride!)


	3. Investigating a Brick Wall

Veld was getting rather frustrated. Rufus had informed him that the prankster had struck and killed his tailor via death by Sephiroth (not that Veld cared especially for civilian casualties, but to kill a man’s tailor? That was low.) Rufus also told him that the possible suspect was Lazard. He’d followed that lead, but Lazard had denied all knowledge of the message that Sephiroth had received. It had not been present on his PHS or in any device in his office, but had had a cyber-trail unique to Lazard.

  
The mystery was evolving. What sort of person could have accessed the highly secure facilities needed to falsify orders and have them accepted? The obvious answer was one of his Turks, but none of them had had the time between the point when they’d been informed of the appointment and the time of the tailor’s death to plan and execute the necessary steps.

  
He was hitting walls all over the place, and it didn’t look like any solutions would be walking neatly onto his desk with the paperwork already filed.

  
Veld had had enough. It was time to round up the usual suspects.

  
……

  
Veld stared at the line-up in his office. Reno stood directly in front of his desk, while Rude loomed next to him, like a particularly tall and impassive mountain range. Scarlet was on the other side of the office, looking irritated and particularly cut-throat gorgeous with what seemed to be ever-lengthening legs stretched in front of her. Genesis hadn’t answered the request to come to Veld’s office, citing a meeting about the casting for his next production of Loveless as his reason-Veld had checked, the meeting was occurring, and the tracker he had planted in Genesis’ pocket indicated that he hadn’t lied about his intended destination.

Cissnei had been absent for the past month on assignment in Corel, and Zack not only was busy at the time, he was positively cursed when it came to technology. Anything that ran on electricity had to be thoroughly Zack-proofed before it was fielded with him, and people could forget about him hacking anything-the device he used would die before it would follow even the simplest order from him. Kunsel was present leaning against a wall, but only because he had a reputation for being equally well-informed and twice as willing to sell information as any decent Turk.

  
He threw a question into the mildly toxic atmosphere that was emanating from the group (mainly Scarlet). “Do you know the secret to decent coffee? This is a legitimate question, please answer honestly.”

  
Scarlet snarled at him silently. Rude blinked slowly. Reno bounced slightly on the spot, cocked his head, and shook it back and forth, muttering an incongruously sedate ‘no’. Kunsel replied with a cheery ‘Nope!’ from beneath his ever-present helmet.

  
With that settled, Veld messaged all of them with the details of the incidents as they had unfolded, including his personal observations upon the difficulty of pulling off the pranks without leaving obvious and glaring cybertrails. Veld’s job had one very large requirement. That was reading people.

  
He gazed across the assorted bunch. Without exception, there was no trace of guilt in the faces or body language of the assembly.

  
Dead ending.

  
With a sigh he dismissed the group, regretting the actions that had led him to this point as he caught the markedly less than respectful glance that Reno cast him, as well as the look of utter disgust from Scarlet that promised humiliation and future revenge for wasting her time.

  
He stood, walking over to a filing cabinet, and searching for the Prank File. He pulled it out, noting as it tugged free one of the cards fluttering to the floor. He picked it up, pausing as his gaze was caught by the writing.

  
**Desperate are we?**

  
He didn’t respond visibly in any way. If the bastard had cameras in his office, he didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ummm...I'm sorry? Also, I apologise if this chapter is particularly bad, I just wanted to post something.


	4. Genesis vs Paperwork

It was no secret that Genesis hated writing reports. If given half a chance, he’d shove the unpleasant task off on anyone, including any poor Thirds that a) were standing nearby, and b) had nowhere near the clearance level to be looking at half the material they handled. (Hojo’s lab techs were rumoured to be sent out in order to herd unfortunate Thirds in Genesis’ general direction after discovering that Thirds would need to disappear after just seeing the corners of the paperwork that Genesis was supposed to submit on a daily basis.)

So when Genesis was faced with a lumpy, dark-haired brat with a look of bovine confusion in his glazed dark-brown orbs, he was understandably irritated. It was an ugly little cadet. Not only that, it was an ugly little cadet too stupid to complete his paperwork to the admittedly lax standards of Shinra’s paper-pushing minions. If he were to take the (precious, sacred-to-LOVELESS) hours out of his day to compile a list of the most unattractive and off-putting traits in the entire human race, the boy standing in front of him would have little difficulty in fulfilling at least eighty percent of the criteria.

He was impressed actually. Slightly. When compiling that list, he would have included certain traits that he was almost positive couldn’t actually exist in reality. The brat’s mediocrity met supernatural standards. Then again, it was only slightly impressive. In Genesis’ book, if it wasn’t related to Loveless, fire, or a plot to make Sephiroth look bad and establish himself as the hero, it would never rate as high as an unqualified impressive.

Then again, nothing but himself would ever achieve that sort of description in his mind. Angeal could whisper foolish words like ‘Narcissism’ and ‘Sociopathy’, but Genesis was perfectly sane (thank you, very much.) He was simply a man that knew his own worth.

So, when he left the herbivorous beast photocopying official files in the Shinra-approved copy room, in order to go out into Midgar to catch a performance on Loveless Avenue, (and possibly hunt for coffee that was actually made out of water and coffee beans, as opposed to dried animal entrails and pencil shavings mixed with sewerage), he had not expected to return to an empty room. He frowned inwardly, not letting the wrinkles mar his perfectly maintained complexion.

The little bullock could have at least waited. Often Genesis would wait for Hojo’s ridiculously eager and assiduous lab techs to appear so that he could watch as the only ones who could really complain about his bad paperwork habits disappeared. He’d been rather anticipating watching the look of bestial stupidity vanish as the cow in human form realised where he’d be spending the rest of his very short lifespan. (Angeal also whispered words like ‘Sadist’ and ‘Pervert’, but a man could have his hobbies. Who was Angeal to judge? The man kept cacti in his home, for Gaia’s sake! At least Genesis had never sunk to such depths!)

Ah well. He picked up the stack of photocopies and got into his lift. They had been placed in sealed envelopes, and a copy had to go to every Department Head, as well as Rufus and President Shinra. It was annoying, but that was what his employed minion was for. (What? You didn’t think he had a secretary? Of course he did! He was an invaluable asset to the company, as if they’d leave him without a minion to stand on! He wasn’t allowed to use his minion for paperwork, they were swapped out every week so he couldn’t charm them over time, and he’d been in trouble the last time he had tried to make one fulfil his duties, but he did take a righteous satisfaction in making them complete the tasks that they were officially employed for.)

Stepping out of the elevator, he marched over to the desk, inwardly sneering at the hairstyle of the young man. He looked like he’d been attacked by a bird. Genesis would have fired him, but he was forbidden to retrench employees without good reason and more paperwork than it was worth in the end. He’d normally settle for biting insults, but he couldn’t be bothered with this one, dumping the pre-addressed envelopes on his desk. He settled into a thoughtful inward frown for a moment-surely the bovine had to be too stupid to handle something as simple as addressing an envelope? He dismissed it after that, brushing it off as one of the vagaries of the Goddess in making his life a little easier.

Moving past the desk and into the office, he settled into his sinfully comfortable chair, picking up a Banora White and a beautiful fifth edition of Loveless to pass the time until he could leave without accruing an unreasonable amount of paperwork to explain why, where he had gone, why he thought he had needed to be in that place when he should have been in his office at Shinra Tower, and how he could have ever been under the (mistaken) impression that he had needed to be in that place when it was obvious that even with his daily burden finished, he was still a vital and necessary presence in the warm and cooperative working atmosphere of Shinra’s corporate sphere.

(The Loveless performance didn’t count, he had arranged for them to be flagged as urgent monster-slaying missions in the slums-there were corresponding reports that he had to fake from scratch, but he had taken to simply keeping multiple photocopies of old ones. A most ingenious idea, if he had to be the one to point it out.)

He listened with half of a satisfied ear as the minion outside his door stood, walked around the desk, and proceeded down the hall. He didn’t hear him come back, and later, when he left, he saw that the minion never came back at all. (He later realised it was Saturday. Meaning, time to change the minions. The one for this week obviously skipped out on duty. He’d reprimand him later-if he could find the file where the minion was named. (What? He was a busy man, he didn’t have the time or inclination to memorise fifty-two names a year simply to satisfy some petty grunts.))

The next morning as he walked in, late, and quite satisfied with himself, (he’d swung by Angeal’s apartment last night, disparaged his decorating taste, and eaten his food), he’d gotten a sense of itchiness in his neck. Almost like the feeling he got when people tried to murder him, or mob him and steal his clothes (they always went for his underwear first. Always.)

He’d looked around, but the only person he’d seen was the back of a very satisfied-looking Scarlet, who was slowly, casually walking away. He’d swear her hips were smirking.

She was so weird. Gave him chills he did-but at least it was Sephiroth who was the target of her unrequited lust. She harboured dreams of being the other half of Sephiroth’s power couple-the strongest man and the most beautiful woman. (Genesis was waiting for her to reach the realisation that Sephiroth was as straight as a circle-it would be a sweet, sweet moment for many within Shinra’s gossip pool.)

Still, he wondered what the smirk was about.

 

********************************************Doesthislooklikealinebreak?Yes?Good.AtleastI’mdoingsomethingright…***************************************

 

As he stood in President Shinra’s office clutching the document he had had delivered in his hands, he questioned his life path. He could have been a very wealthy, very prestigious farmer in Banora. He could have been an actor renowned for his stunning performances in Loveless. He could have been a chocobo racer-a dancer! A Cosmo Canyon researcher. Anything. Anything else. These were his thoughts as he stared at the paper in his hands.

**A Report on the General Uselessness of the Shinra Industrial and Dictatorial Regime**

**Or**

**The Many Faults of President Shinra’s Farcical and Corrupt Puppet Empire**

Someone had pranked him.

…

It was an outrage. It was an insult. It was…

Brilliantly played. Ignoring the purple-faced diabetic who was raging at him about making him look like a fool to his Department Heads, Genesis began to scheme to discover which astoundingly cunning soul had done something like this.

He turned the first page of the thin booklet. Sandwiched between the pages, was a small cream card. Good quality cardstock, evenly printed lettering.

**_Hard work is the virtue that makes equals of all men._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Paperwork 1, Genesis 0
> 
> Hey you guys! Thanks for all being so lovely in your comments! I'm a tad bit busy, as I've started my final year of school, so I gotta work hard to get ridiculously high marks so I can study my dream course at my dream uni...
> 
> But you really didn't want to know that, so, please, drop me a line if you want to chat a little bit about anything at all-if I haven't responded, that may be because it would ruin my fun to give you guys spoilers, so maybeeeee, maybe noooottt to all those who have left a theory!
> 
> Genesis is such a diva, isn't he? I based his skin obsession on this one narcissistic chick from a romance novel I once read-Magic Flutes, by Eva Ibbotson? Man I loved that book-and the epic verbal smackdown that the narcissist got at the end.
> 
> Welp, it's 11 here, so you can thank NaNoWriMo for this update, and goodnight!


	5. Carpe Diem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Puppy runs into a spot of mayhem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta-reading? What beta-reading? *snort*
> 
> Sorry I haven't posted for a while. This chapter went pretty well for the first half, but then I got bogged down on the second half. Also, Christmas and shit like that.
> 
> Enjoy!

It was a great day for Zack Fair. The sun was shining (somewhere above the suspiciously green tinged clouds and toxic smog), the birds were singing (somewhere far, far away from the dead desert that surrounded Midgar), and he’d enjoyed a surprisingly tasty breakfast at the cafeteria (the ingredients of which he felt _no need to inquire about_ ), following a wonderful ‘Good Morning’ phone call from Aerith. He had a long-term monster slaying mission in Mideel coming up in the next couple of weeks, meaning no missions before it, double pay during it, and a nice long leave afterward. He wondered why the ordinary soldiers that would be accompanying him weren’t as psyched as he was, but figured that maybe there was a Midgar event they’d be missing or something.

(Grunts got none of the privileges that anyone above the rank of Second Class received, but Zack had been a Third for so small a part of his total career that he had never been assigned to a long-term mission before being promoted.)

He strolled along the corridors on some level-not quite sure which, he’d check the map (did they have floor maps available?)

Despite his imminent and inevitable despair from being totally lost in a place where he had been working for five years, Zack was clinging to his great day with the vicious escapism of a Shinra employee faced with a paycut.

The theme from _Chocobo Heroes_ began to drum out of his PHS.

“Tall, dark and handsome speaking, what can I do you for?”

The familiar sweet laughter of his dear darling girlfriend broke upon his ears.

“Zack, you better not greet everyone that way!” she giggled.

Zack chuckled back and made a mental note to ask Cloud to personalise a ringtone for Aerith’s phone number, so that Aerith would never find out that he talked flirtatiously to everyone he spoke to over the phone.

“Course not Aerith! Now, what can I do for you at this present moment? We’re still on for dinner tonight, right?”

Aerith’s giggle spiralled from the phone, and Zack felt an instant premonition. Much like Angeal in regards to him, he had a sixth sense when it came to Aerith stirring up trouble-whether it was charming drunks in Wall Market, or ‘going for a walk’ in a particularly iniquitous Sector under the Plate. Normally he’d be near enough that he’d get her out of trouble-perhaps a train ride away, or walking to her Church.

Where was she this time…?

“Zack! I’m hiding in a broom closet on level 27!”

Zack felt an instant pang of despair. His good day vanished like smoke on the wind. A while ago, Tseng had come to him with a proposal from Veld-the Turks would cover for his difficulties with electronics, if he would aid them in their mission to keep his Ancient girlfriend away from all people and places Shinra. He’d leapt on the agreement-it was a win-win, after all.

Keeping his girlfriend safe, and securing a source of instant recourse upon the inevitable event that his electronic equipment suffered damage (read: committed instantaneous suicide upon entering his immediate vicinity)? Pretty sweet deal.

Heading helplessly over to one of the doors that lined the empty walls, he knocked, then opened the door and poked his head through. Upon sighting a middle-aged man in a business suit (who Zack mentally dubbed as Shinra Paperwork Grunt #1), he politely inquired the way to the nearest elevator bank and left the area, leaving behind an awed and mildly honoured Shinra paperwork grunt.

He selected level 27, numbers not being too hard to screw up with, and made it there with surprisingly little difficulty. Broom closet, broom closet…he cast his eye over the abundance of doors that lined the walls of the administration level-of which there were many. Since he doubted Aerith had really thought too much when choosing her hiding place, he picked a random direction and started to walk.

The weight of responsibility for another person always hit home to Zack whenever he was confronted with whatever Aerith was up to, making him experience the anxiety that Angeal undoubtedly received from having to deal with Zack’s own antics. He checked most of the doors that he passed, leaving those that were locked, and, once, hurriedly backing out when the room he poked his head into was filled with a visible aura of misery and depression. The thought hastily crossed his mind that the room might be one of Hojo’s admin offices, but then, through the oppressively dim lighting, he made out a sign on the wall.

SHINRA EXPENSES DEPARTMENT: OFFICE 56A

Ah.

The infamous and somewhat mythical expenses department. The employees who worked there were notably antisocial and hostile, avoiding all contact with other workers, and, according to rumours, holding a savage hatred for SOLDIERs, especially the Generals and Zack. Apparently, the unfortunate men and women were assigned to the department when they showed signs of rebellion against Shinra-such as requesting health insurance, or pay rises. And once you entered the expenses department, _you could never leave_.

Zack left that door behind quickly, turning into another hall and trying every door, until, at the twenty-third, he was greeted with the smiling face and adorable giggle of his diabolically angelic girlfriend. He glanced around quickly, assuring himself that the corridor was empty of witnesses (although in all the other hallways there had been a few people who had given him more than a second glance for the way he was rifling through doors), before he stepped in and closed the door firmly behind himself.

“Aerith, I love you, but please don’t do this to me ever again. I could get in serious trouble. _You_ could get in serious trouble. We, plural, could get in serious trouble. Damn, it would be worse than if I asked you to marry me without Angeal’s permission.”

Aerith stared at him, her eyes luminous and stunned in the darkness of the closet.

“Zack…are you being _serious_ right now?”

Zack face-faulted.

“Yes, obviously. Look, the Turks have been keeping an eye on you for me,” here Aerith directed him a narrow-eyed glare, “and I’ve been doing my part to keep you happy and engaged under the plate so that Hojo keeps his greasy fingers off, but that doesn’t work when you pull stunts like this. You have to stay close to me whenever you come anywhere near Shinra Tower, and more than that, you can’t take _risks_ like this.”

Aerith sighed, “I suppose…yes, you’re right,” slowly adopting an appearance of slight guilt as she lifted her hands to gently rest them against Zack’s chest. He slipped his arms around her waist, and they stood together, simply feeling the exchange of heartbeats flowing through the body of the other.

“Who helped you get in here?” Zack asked after a moment, gently carding a soothing hand through her soft locks.

Immediately he sensed her stiffen, and knew without looking down that she had a mutinous look on her face.

“…Or not.”

******************

 

One day later…

 

                                                                                                          *********************

The first signal that something strange had occurred happened when Luxiere rushed up and congratulated him quickly, asking something about dates and colour schemes, before dashing off to catch a helicopter for a monster-culling mission. The second occurred when the secretaries that had always brought him takeout coffee when he asked kept staring at him and giggling, while chattering too quickly for his hearing to follow.

The third was less mystifying.

“Zack!” a gruff voice called out as he retreated from the ominous chuckling of the secretaries.

He turned to see Angeal bearing down on him, a hundred kilograms of muscle and worried parental instincts.

“You can’t marry Aerith! Neither of you is old enough for that sort of commitment! Moreover, you should solidify the stability of your career and income before you make any type of life-altering choice!”

_‘…ehhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhHHHHHHHHHHHH?’_

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, Angeal, what the fuck? Who told you that? Aerith? Was it Genesis? Whoever it was, they’re fucking with you, man,” Zack spluttered hastily, as he saw the unsettlingly motherly gleam in Angeal’s eyes focusing on him.

His mentor pulled out his PHS, fumbling with it for a moment before an audio file began to play.

_“Aerith…I love you…and I want to ask you to marry me...”_

_“Zack…are you being serious right now?...sigh…I suppose…yes!”_

That was definitely his voice. That was definitely Aerith’s voice. Both of their voices. The inflection was perfect. For all intents and purposes, what had just been played was an audio file of him proposing to Aerith.

He looked up into Angeal’s face, with a pleading expression. The older man had evidently calmed after watching his reaction, and silently, the two of them turned to go and start looking for whoever had sprung this one.

They hadn’t gotten more than a few steps before Angeal’s voice rang out once more,

“What I don’t understand is how the prankster even got this recording...”

Zack picked up his feet and began to run.

*****************

A week later, Zack was wading through his pre-deployment paperwork, checking to make sure his authorisations and medicals were all up to date, when a rectangle of creamy card-stock fell into his fingers.

 

**_916 Wall Market,_ **

**_Zarda’s Wedding Couture and Planning._ **

**_Carpe diem._ **

****

He breathed slowly for a moment, in…and…out. Picking up his PHS, he thumbed a familiar number.

 

“Hey baby. Love you too. Want to grab dinner at Mama Sal’s tonight?”

 

He started searching shinra.net for a jeweller while he spoke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End Note: Hey, you fucks. And by fucks I mean my dear, lovely readers. Sorry for the wait, I’ve been a bit busy with the end of my school term. Good news is, I have holidays so I should be bored enough to maybe bring this story to a definitive end-don’t stake your money on it though, in case you didn’t notice, I’m a little erratic. -.-; I have a few things in the works for other FF7 stories, so you might see those soon. I will not leave this one unfinished or abandoned, so don’t panic if I post another chaptered story before this one ends. Funny how far people may go with a first fanfic! On that note, 70 kudos! That’s a real achievement for me, normally the only person who likes my stuff is my twin-and she’s basically obligated to like it…   
> For this chapter, I really like the idea of technologically impaired Zack-like, the only thing that doesn’t smash, die the virus death, or instantly manifest a fried battery is video game consoles. So Zack plays video games. A lot. Plot twist: Zack isn’t technologically cursed. The pranksters have been running a long-term hustle on him, including elaborate sabotage of any equipment he uses. They can’t tamper with everything, and they don’t want to be too mean, so they leave him his video games, but every negative technological experience is either designed, or fortunate coincidence. Ah, I love fucking with people.  
> See you next time!


End file.
